Long Gangrene Poems

State of the Art (II)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer 
~~~~underwater~~~~
watching the shoreline...

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A Vain Word
by Michael R. Burch

Oleanders at dawn preen extravagant whorls
as I read in leaves’ Sanskrit brief moments remaining
till sunset implodes, till the moon strands grey pearls
under moss-stubbled oaks, full of whispers, complaining
to the darkening...

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When I was young, and adventure routine,
With excitement and newness still unforeseen
I was eager to spread my wings to the world
And seek more adventures as those wings unfurled

Within my long travels I happened to meet
Two...

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Yellow is the color of the sun,
is it not?

It’s the same color as the Asian
valet corporate fella,
holding a Salvation Army red pot
Collecting inflated IPO fees 
at an illegal
dot.com parking lot

Always yielding to temptation,
is the armored...

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No winds are winnowing enough
To put a quill back in the hands of the dead poet
Or confidence back in the trachea of the strangled speaker
In me
Because no words are as vile
As no words at all
Where...

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Insidious political correctness
is pushed from top to bottom - to entice
with policies immoral, stupid, reckless,
for which the population pays the price.
Political correctness is a weapon!
When no longer wisdom operates,
in people's private lives it's to step...

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A Workman Approved by God 2 Timothy :14-16

Keep reminding them of these things.  Warn them before God 
against quarreling about words;  it is of no value, and only ruins 
them who listen. ...

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O balked from the tree of his righteousness
Dried out, crushed to bitter pulp, I am bleached
Of his nature, his image sin digest
Till I am a chemical drip, a leached
Embodiment of human reason, just
Paper without special...

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Poems about Poets

Elemental
by Michael R. Burch

for and after Dylan Thomas

The poet delves earth’s detritus—hard toil—
for raw-edged nouns, barbed verbs, vowels’ lush bouquet;
each syllable his pen excretes—dense soil,
dark images impacted, rooted clay.

The poet sees the sea...

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There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm.
Men United in the hunt,
Women united in the spiritual sounds of songs of the Shaman,
And ships from the east,
Came with the Glory of God,
And between...

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(Part 2 of 4)

They Want To Defy or Re-Term It
But The Faithful Always Affirm It
In These Last Days of Attack On Truth
They Want All of Mankind To Refute

The World Wants Us To Crawl In Dirt...

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...It was two days before she lost them,
and an arrow slashed her small finger,
a small wagon train did take her in,
but a doctor found gangrene in her,
chopped her pinkey with barely a word.
Fever set in...

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She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre...

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So now
            the very thing you feared
                 ...

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Whenever in the company of his trusted friends
St. Paul Lafargue had always said:
"I sure hope I never get a sainthood someday
- That would be supremely lame for an atheist
 In any day and age."
The man...

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Today I got to watch one of the most pathetic displays

Of human dignity, morals and character, that my eyes they  have 'ever' beheld

It was like being in the midst of a safaris jungle, within...

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I know, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s poem : Je sais by T. Wignesan

I have seen upon this earth the gangrene of mass graves
I have seen the sky foul up with human ashes
I have watched the...

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Seek fortune teller asap (haint no fable)

Best nondescript literate jinxed
humble dug good feller ya e'er seen
amenable, a non biased opinion -
of course I mean mine mein
yours truly gets no lucky strike breaks
particularly never ending

surprising automotive...

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In the funky train,
 All the hoo-ha-noisy end in fisticuff;
 As the crumpled greenback hand-out cough,
 The law has nothing to handcuff, 
  
 Maneuvering on the sloppy storey hill
 A frantic dance of...

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There, at the parapet, part-built with corpses,
Where we dug out the two year old bones of the French,
Stands on the second rung of the ladder,
The corporal keeping watch from the lip of the trench.

His periscope...

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I have forfeited every inch
Of your bitter blow
And you have reaped the profit.
You took my discretion for granted
And placed me inside a cage.
You withered,
Disdainfully,
In an open page.
The palate of your face
Eating at the sky
And delivering...

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Guile fire 
comes from the mirror belly 
of the idol Cyclops telly

Dragon tales
swing wily into the ether, miry gutter
Caustic dirty words heard,
your mother told you don’t ever utter

Divide the grazing cash cattle
with corrosive, covetous steer...

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It's like some rotten little joke
That your kindergarten teacher spoke
All of God's things get broke and it's we must fix 'em
The bones in your body, snapped in half
The tree on your house while your wife's...

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Everything my mother or grandmother cooked
was good for your soul
from the rich beef ribs 
braised in a new red wine
to the lamb or pork
nurtured tenderly with fresh herbs
or even the high fat meat loaf
never served...

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"In this place you will not find God and Jesus will not save,
It's the hotel for the fools and ghouls who went too far in their day.

Mack sits in the flames his feelings have all...

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